“I’m sorry for you, Aiken. I truly am.” She rubbed her forehead. “That must’ve been hard, growing up like that. But this is a pain you can’t possibly recognize. Seriously, let me wallow in my own shit.”
I moved closer, took her hand from her brow, and ran the backs of my knuckles over her cheek. “Want to try me?”
She shook her head again. “I want my girl back. My Abby. She was a good girl. Well-behaved, A-student, cute as a button, even with her dad’s face.” She sighed, and I watched the breath rise and fall in her chest.
Time stilled, the back of my palm remained on her wet cheek, her eyes remained focused on the tiles in front of her, the microwave blinked the time.
“Went to the cemetery today. Weeded, planted some flowers—lilac impatiens for the summer—and then sat there like a dumb fucking lump on a log. Pardon the French…Abby would’ve liked the purple. She wanted purple everything when she was little. Purple tutus, purple crystal headbands, bright violet nails and toenails when she got older. There was a time I hated purple. Couldn’t stand to look at anything else purple.”
Her skin was fair, light brown freckles smattered over her breast bone. I could make out her ribs under the skin of her slender chest, and I wanted to hold her tight to me—crush her, encapsulate her, make her feel better somehow.
Her chest took a long inhale, and I watched the breath whoosh out of her at the memory.
“We go there sometimes. Laurie—she lost her daughter the same night. She’s different than me, life of privilege, big farmhouse, doting husband, other kids, but we bonded after that awful night. The other two girls who went with them, they survived…their families moved…needed to get away. They don’t really stay in touch. Abby’s dad doesn’t go see her. He made a new life way before she was gone, so I guess it’s not a biggie or whatever. He didn’t always care before. Why should he care now? She was my everything. Even though it doesn’t seem that way…” Her words faded out at the end, her chest heavy with breath.
There was something heavy between us. Real, tangible, although I had no idea where the pull came from. It was a tug like I’d never felt before. A tethering.
She turned to face me. “I’m rambling for days. I do that. It’s nerves. I should know, this is what I do for a living, scrutinize people. I should examine myself. Or shut the hell up.”
If I could solve this for her, make it better, I would. But that wasn’t Claire. She wasn’t a woman you solved anything for—
“You’re not rambling. You’re getting it all out. And you’re right, I don’t know the kind of loss you suffered. I can’t possibly. But at some point, you have to keep the good memories alive. Let the pain go. I didn’t know Abby. Shit, I can’t even pretend to understand her inner and outer beauty, because that would take something away from your memory. But if I guessed, she must’ve been vibrant and alive and wouldn’t want you to act anything but alive.”
“You don’t get it. That night is burned in my memory. Sometimes I’m so consumed by it, it’s as if it’s happening all over again. I can’t even understand why I’m telling you all of this. As if it will make it any better. This is why I stick to myself, depend on nobody.”
“We all have demons surface, Claire. It’s what we do when they pop up, how we forge ahead, not letting them pull us down. Depending on nobody, like you say, sucks.”
“Again, I’m not sure you understand. I’d just taken a luxurious bath, felt like myself—a sensual woman—for the first time in a long while. I’d dozed off while reading one of my romance novels when the phone rang. Laurie told me to turn on the TV, screeching something about there not being an accident but an explosion.” Her fingers clenched on the counter, her eyes narrow slits at the memory.
I sat quietly, knowing she wasn’t finished.
“I can hear her saying, ‘Claire, are you looking?’ like it happened tonight. My name hung in her throat. Her words stung my ear. If I’m honest, that’s what I’m feeling now while telling you this. The burn, the raw feeling in my throat…it’s as if it’s happening all over again.”
My head felt as heavy as my heart as I listened to her.
“Claire—stop saying I don’t get it or I don’t understand. You’re right, it didn’t happen to me. How can I get it? I’m saying you deserve some happiness, a night off from all the demons.” I tried to stop her, even though I’d asked for this.
She waved me off, her eyes focused on a far-off place.
“My fingers shook as I turned on the TV, and fire blazed across the screen. I always watched channel five, so all I had to do was hit the power button, and the explosion was right there in front of me. There was the arena, the very same one I’d dropped the girls off at, except it hadn’t been on fire then. It was burning up, while a newscaster tried to get close, mumbling some bullshit about ‘determining the severity of the situation.’ I’d wanted to yell at the TV, but Laurie was yelling into my ear. ‘Claire! Claire! Are you there?’ She wouldn’t shut up so I could hear the TV.”
She stopped to take a breath, a sip of water, and I wound my fingers through hers.
“I kept asking Laurie, ‘Do you have the girls?’ I knew it was wishful thinking, but I had to ask. She didn’t. She kept screaming until finally she saw Shelby and breathed hope into me. Hope that Abby was somewhere there too. Maybe her phone had died, or she got swept up in a crowd running toward another exit.”
I squeezed her hand, trying to get her out of this horrible trance. She gave me a quick look and continued.
“Before I knew it, I was shrugging on jeans and throwing on a bra. I didn’t even stop to let Smitty out…just ran out the door and jumped into my dependable car, saying a mental fuck-you to the seat belt. I’d had the damn SUV since the divorce. It was the only constant in my life other than Abby and Smit. It was a big deal that that Goddamn rapper even came here. It had been in the news for weeks. Our brand-spanking-new basketball arena was sure to draw in many more big-time names. And you see, when I drove over there, I only prayed to every God I knew that the place didn’t swallow up my baby girl. That’s what torments me.”
“Christ, Claire, I can see how you would be tortured, but it’s been a few years. You have to let some of the pain go. You can’t live your life chasing ghosts.”
She turned to me, fire in her eyes. “Is that what you’re doing? Coming to the town where your mom is from? Chasing ghosts?”
Her eyes continued to flare and burn into mine, and I felt all sorts of shit.
Empathy, freedom, lust.
I was a jumbled, mixed-up bag of emotions, and then my lips met hers. Mine a bit rough, hers soft and supple. I waited for a slap or her body to pull back, but neither came. I nudged her legs apart with my knee and wrestled my way between her thighs, ran my hand over the back of her hair, and held tight to her neck. She breathed out her own flavor mixed with mint, and my tongue sought entrance.
“Aiken,” she whispered, but didn’t stop kissing me back.
“You taste…oh God, Claire.”
“Aiken, please…”
“Please what?”
Our lips kissed, mumbled one another’s names against one another, and locked like two savages again.
She finally pulled back. “We have to stop.”
“I don’t want to, but I will.”
My mouth let go and pulled away, disgruntled with me.
My forehead met hers as her name came out of my mouth. “Claire…”
“What are we doing? What do you do? Student? What? Tell me.” She held her gaze on the floor, rapid-firing the questions.
My voice croaked, “Not a student. I did school in Indiana, a trade school on computer programming. I’m here on my own. Grown-ass man and all that. I’m old enough to know what I’m doing, what I want. I feel something deep with you…it’s buried in my gut, pulling me to you. Some raw need to be with you. You must sense it?”
Pulling her forehead from mine, she stared at me.
“How old are you?”
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“Thirty, for Christ’s sake. Like I said, a grown-ass man, Claire.”
“This is crazy.” She hopped off the stool and side-stepped around me. “Thanks for checking on me, but you have to go—I’m a college professor. This isn’t right even if you’re not a student.”
Halfway out the back door, I turned. “What isn’t right? Moving on? I’d even settle for second place with a woman like you. Is having a life so fucking bad, Claire?”
I didn’t wait for an answer.
Claire
Sunday, I woke up damp from sweat, heart racing, throat raw. Burying my head in my pillow, I cursed the heart-to-heart I’d had with Aiken. It had been a while since I’d relived that ill-fated night, and for the last two nights, my dreams had been flooded with memories.
Ill-fated night was a nice way of putting it. More like, fucking disaster in which my daughter ended up murdered. My fists balled tightly as the night came back into focus.
If I was one hundred percent honest with myself, I would’ve fessed up to my supersized bullshit—I’d been counting the seconds until the girls hustled out of the car.
I’d been desperately craving some time to myself.
A few hours were all I’d been hunting for—no work, no kids, no reminders of my failed marriage.
I hadn’t been asking for much.
Their nonstop chatter had vibrated in my head as I shuttled them in my late-model, yet extremely safe, SUV. I shouldn’t have been feeling the way I’d been feeling on that night.
Or any night.
I shouldn’t have been in a hurry to ditch the girls, but there was no denying I was.
After all, it was a big deal—I should’ve been celebrating and picture-taking with them, of them. First night at a concert, no chaperone, extra money in their skinny-jean pockets, and lip gloss on their young faces. They were never going to be fourteen or that innocent again.
I’d stopped on the corner, the large sign lit up like a giant Lite-Brite in front of us, the face of the stupid-as-dirt rapper they’d wanted to see for months adorning the screen. I could’ve sworn he was smirking at me, his gold tooth glittering against the night sky.
Whatever, I’d thought to myself, soon I’m free.
A bottle of wine, a bubble bath, and a salacious romance book were all waiting for me at home.
“All right, ladies. Have fun, behave, stick together—do not separate—and text Michele’s mom when you’re walking out. Laurie will tell you where she’s parked,” I said as the car idled outside the horrible monstrosity. I missed the old fieldhouse. The university had torn it down for a much sleeker basketball arena that could double as a concert venue.
Whether other concertgoers would behave never crossed my mind as I sat there with my foot on the brake. I’d told our girls the basics when it came to going out: make smart decisions, stick together, don’t talk to strange men, stay off social media.
That was enough—right?
“Thanks, Claire,” they hollered as they shimmied out of the car, their skin aglow with glitter lotion.
“Abby, be good.” My fingers grazed my daughter’s as she exited the passenger seat.
“Mom, I will…’kay? Gotta go. Love you.”
I nodded and whispered, “Love you more,” to no one. She’d already slammed the door in my face and grabbed Michele’s hand, swinging their arms toward the sky as they walked to the entrance. Shelby and Olivia did the same, their bangles falling down their bare arms. They looked like quadruplets in their black tank tops, dark painted-on jeans, and metallic gladiator sandals as dusk fell on that late August night. They’d combed style magazines for weeks, seeking the right look. It had taken several trips to our Podunk mall and a few orders off the web to perfect Abby’s outfit.
I couldn’t help but stare at their butts as they made their way to the door. Couldn’t help but remember how many times I’d wiped Abby’s very own tiny tush. It was one of the perks of being her mom, as far as I was concerned.
Pulling away from the curb, my excitement had been coupled with melancholy. My girl was growing up. First concert on her own, soon it’d be prom, then sorority life. She’d make her own life, and where would that leave me?
Doing the same thing I always did, overworking and wondering when exactly my ex-husband lost interest in me.
I punched the pillow and stood before any more tears came. As I shuffled to the bathroom, Smitty whimpered. “One sec, tough guy, lemme pee, and then I’ll let you.”
After splashing some water on my face, I opened the door for Smitty. Not brave enough to step outside and run into my neighbor, I hid in the kitchen while my dog did his business. I smacked the button on the coffee maker as if it had done something to me, fed Smitty, and dressed for a run.
I’d chase my bad thoughts and boredom away with running.
The only thing I did well these days.
When I got back home, my phone rang. I almost ignored it until I saw it was Mary.
“Hey, if you’re calling to drag me out drinking again, it’s not happening,” I answered.
“Nope, it’s your lucky day, bitch.”
Guzzling water, I didn’t respond to her ridiculous obscenity.
“Hey, don’t be so touchy. I’m calling with good news.”
“Not touchy. I was drinking.”
“So early?”
“Mary, get to the point.” I opened my fridge and looked inside for something decent.
“Well, the grad student I had subbing in for you broke her foot, shattered it in a million places…her words not mine…and she’s laid up.”
Slamming the fridge and looking up to the gods, I said, “I’m coming back?”
“You’re coming back, babe.”
“Oh, Mary, I could kiss you.”
“Hey, I didn’t really want to give it you, but the universe has different plans.”
“I don’t give a shit. See you tomorrow. Gotta go, bye.”
I disconnected the call and ran upstairs for my laptop. The grad student was using my syllabus, so it was no biggie for me to take over. All I had to do was check out where the class was in the plan and prep for the following day.
Teaching was the one thing I did well. Or, at least, right.
Monday, I parked my car in the staff lot on campus and walked with purpose to the Frable Humanities Building. I could’ve walked from home, but had decided to bring my car in case I ran errands afterward. I loved living close to campus, but enjoyed the ability to escape to the surrounding small towns equally as much. The farther out I went, the more anonymity I had.
You’d think I’d be tired of the area, working at the same large state school—Central Pennsylvania State—where I’d attended undergraduate and graduate school, but I wasn’t. The lush trees, expansive lawn, quaint Main Street all felt like home…and Abby had been born and buried here. I’d never leave where she was buried.
Today, my steps felt a bit lighter. Teaching was like smoothing Vaseline over chapped lips. It soothed the itch and relieved the ache temporarily. If I wanted it to go away completely, I had to stop licking my lips—or scratching my itch to know what had actually happened on that ill-fated night.
I held the door open for a few students, lingering and walking in after them. Frayed jean shorts, flip-flops, the smell of sunscreen…some of the reasons I loved summer session. Students were generally happy, eager to get to class and get it over with so they could bask in the sun. For a brief moment, I thought of Abby.
Would she be taller?
Tanned?
She’d be driving by now. Would she blast music? Text me when she arrived somewhere?
Would she have taken the SAT already?
The questions were endless.
“Excuse me.” A guy breezed past me in a rush to catch the elevator.
I took the stairs to the second floor and entered Canter Lecture Hall. The seats were filling up, and I set my bag on the lectern and tightened my hair back into a bun at the nape of my neck. As
I pulled my tablet out of my bag, a young woman approached.
“Excuse me, Professor Richards?”
“Yes?” I stopped what I was doing and looked up, giving her my full attention.
“I just wanted to say I’m glad you’re teaching. I don’t mean any disrespect to the other woman, but she was a grad student, and well, I signed up for this class for you. So, thanks. Really—”
My heart beat overtime. I wanted to ask her to tell Mary, but Mary knew this was my life.
Teaching.
The best part.
The only part.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know everyone’s name yet. What is your name?”
“Oh. Abigail Evans. Everyone calls me Abbie, with an ie.” She smiled, happy to make my acquaintance, having no idea of the significance of her name.
“Beautiful name.” I cleared the frog in my throat. “I knew someone once with that name. I’m sure she would’ve been as nice and as sweet as you. Thanks for coming to class.” I excused her with a nod.
Abbie with an ie.
The grandfather clock in the hallway rang nine o’clock, and I said, “Good morning. Everyone have a nice weekend?”
There was a cacophony of grumbles and sighs.
“Well, mine was about the same. So, let’s get down to business.” I shoved any memories of Aiken kissing me to the far recesses of my mind and any remaining lust down to the pit of my stomach.
“Let’s talk nature versus nurture. Show of hands, are we a product of our environment?”
A smattering of hands went up around the midsize lecture hall.
“What about genetics? Who believes their pull is stronger when it comes to behavior?”
A larger display of hands went up.
“When I was young, I used to believe that too. That our inherent makeup made up for more than our environments. It was an easy way to excuse poor decisions and behavior. Can anyone give me an example of what I’m saying?”
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